You, Me & Toby
by Best Damn Avocado
Summary: Molly Hooper and Martha Jones cross paths when Toby, Molly's cat, decides to undertake a life of crime.


**NOTE:** This fic is for my friend Marcie, the Martha to my Molly and co-founder of the M&M friendship. Merry Christmas!

* * *

Molly Hooper's first week of work at London's St. Bart's Hospital was everything she could ever hope for and more. Her coworkers were friendly and her superiors were nice—but the lab. Oh, the lab! Her post-graduate medical training was already proving itself a delight.

St. Bart's specialty training scheme was extremely competitive. Molly had to work extra hard for her specialty registrar position but all her efforts were finally (finally!) paying off.

Her first order of business on her first official day off from work was to celebrate with a nice bottle of wine. Second was to call her dad with an update. He'd been bugging her about getting her faulty window fixed for over a week. Third—and least pleasant, but entirely necessary—was to unpack the rest of the labeled boxes she'd stacked inside her cramped little apartment.

Half a bottle of wine later she'd reduced the amount of boxes by half. The empty remains littered the floor and made it difficult to navigate the tiny space. She considered leaving it for the next day but Toby, her cat, was still bitter about the move and she didn't want him tearing the boxes into bits under the pretext of sharpening his nails. She gathered the empty ones and flattened them for the apartment complex's recycling bin.

Getting out the door was a bit of a hassle with her hands full and her head fuzzy, but she managed it. It was only after the deed was done and she was shuffling back to her door in her slippers that she noticed, she'd left the door ajar.

"Toby?" She slipped into her apartment and darted her eyes over the half unpacked interior. "Toby!"

After a thorough search, Molly slipped back out into the hall. He couldn't have gotten very far. The stairway door was usually kept locked and despite childhood hopes for a magical cat, she doubted Toby could operate the lift. She was a third of the way down the corridor when a door opened to reveal another woman about her age holding the furry little miscreant in her arms.

"Toby! You awful blighter," Molly scolded.

"So the intruder has a name, does he? I found him curled up on my bed," the woman spoke as Molly scooped him out of her arms. "He came in through the window."

Molly almost smacked her head. "Of course. And here I thought he'd made a break for it when I left the door open. It's a good thing he didn't wander off for good. I really need to get that window fixed," she rambled before flashing an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. Did he break anything? I'd be happy to pay for any damage."

"Nothing at all. He was very polite company," the woman assured her with a smile of her own. "Breaking and entering aside."

Molly laughed and shifted Toby in her arms to extend a hand. "I'm Molly Hooper. Just moved in down the hall."

"Martha Jones," the woman took her hand and introduced herself. "I saw the new tag on the call button downstairs and thought this one might be yours. I was on my way over now. He's a cutie." Martha reached out to scratch behind Toby's ears and he purred in Molly's arms.

"Looks like he took a shine to you already. He's usually a very good judge of character," Molly assured her.

"Is he? Then I'm flattered," Martha laughed but stopped when she caught sight of Molly's slippers. "Is that Hedwig?"

"What?" Molly followed her eyes down to her slippers. "Oh! Yea, I'm a very big Harry Potter fan."

"Me too," Martha replied enthusiastically. "J.K. Rowling knows her stuff. Saved my skin, once."

"Cast as spell, did you?" Molly teased.

"As it were," Martha replied with a sort of reminiscent smile.

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime. The only magic I've performed recently is making half a bottle of wine disappear." She tilted her head in thought. "Did I get that from a movie?"

"I don't know, but I was just in the process of performing that spell myself," Martha quipped.

"I won't keep you, then, but if you ever need me to return the favor, all you have to do is ask."

"Absolutely! If I ever need your cat returned to me, you'll be the first to know," Martha joked. "It was nice to meet you Molly."

"Nice to meet you too."

Molly wandered back to her place with a smile. She'd never been the type to easily make friends. Her awkwardness usually thwarted her at every turn, but Martha had a way about her that put her at ease. She cradled Toby close to her chest and wondered if maybe a friendship with Martha was something she could swing.

Despite that first meeting, Molly didn't see Martha again until a couple of weeks later. By then, Molly's new place was finally starting to feel like home. She'd gotten the rest of the boxes unpacked and her window fixed. Her favorite books sat alongside her collection of medical journals on a bookshelf she'd wedged into a corner, and Toby had a brand new cat bed underneath the window.

Molly was decidedly happy with the whole arrangement but it still felt like she was missing something. She was contemplating what that might be when there was a knock on the door. Toby meowed.

"Yea, I know. I'm not expecting anyone either."

Molly opened the door and found Martha waiting on the other side with a bright smile. "Molly?"

"Martha!" Molly pulled the door wide open, careful to keep an eye on Toby. "I've been meaning to visit. Toby can't stop talking about you."

"Yes, well, our schedules don't sync up at all. I've been meaning to visit too but your never home when I am and Toby has trouble working the doorknob." She presented her with a small pot of 'forget me not's' and a tin of fancy cat food. "Welcome to the building, officially."

Molly laughed and reached out to take both. "Thank you very much, officially. Do you want to come in? I've finally got the place looking presentable."

"Yes but only for fifteen minutes. I'm due at work," Martha explained as she stepped inside.

"Figures that'd be the case." Molly closed the door. "Can I get you anything? Probably not wine."

"Definitely not wine," Martha agreed. "Anything's fine."

Molly set the potted flowers and tin down on her coffee table and disappeared into her tiny little kitchen. "So what do you do? If you don't mind me asking," she called.

"Um..." Martha appeared at her kitchen doorway with one of Molly's medical journal in her hands. "Probably something similar to what you do?"

"Really?" Molly peeked up from where she was pouring a glass of water. "You're a doctor?"

"Finished my foundation training last year," Martha confirmed.

"I just started my specialty registrar at St. Bart's Hospital," Molly explained. "It's no wonder our schedules don't sync up."

Martha turned the medical journal over in her hands to show Molly the cover. "Forensic pathology, then?"

"Originally I wanted to study veterinary medicine," Molly explained. "After my mom got sick, though, I became interested in anatomical pathology. I almost went with cytopathology as a subspecialty, but forensic pathology eventually won out."

"Did your mum recover?" Martha asked gently.

Molly shook her head. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Molly assured her with a new smile while handing her the glass of water. Martha gave her back her medical journal. "What about you?"

"Me?" Martha leaned against the counter. "My brother pushed me off a swing when I was younger," she recounted with a fond smile. "He broke my arm but all I could think of while it was being plastered was that it was the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen. I've wanted to be a doctor ever since."

"We should trade numbers," Molly suggested when she was finished. "You know, in case our schedules ever do sync up. Trade stories."

"Absolutely," Martha readily agreed. "Besides, how else am I going to keep an eye on the adorable security menace that is Toby?"

Molly laughed. "Too true."

They chatted until Martha announced she had to run, and Molly returned to her living room after saying her goodbyes at the door. She swept her eyes over the setup one more time, but her previous feeling that something was missing didn't reappear. She stood there with her hands on her hips and furrowed brows for a few minutes, trying to determine what'd changed. Then her eyes landed on the blue 'forget me not's' on the coffee table. She picked them up with a smile.

Over the next month and a half, Molly and Martha made it a point to check in with each other whenever they could snag a bit of free time. Their excuse for calling was always Toby and his increasingly audacious escape attempts. He'd gotten a taste of freedom when he'd visited Martha and it seemed he wanted to get another every time Molly opened the door.

Their conversations always strayed to other topics though. Molly and Martha found they had quite a bit in common and their conversations spanned everything from progress in their respective medical fields to their mutual appreciation for the Spice Girls. Molly's favorite was Emma but Martha argued appreciation for Victoria. They scheduled a movie night to watch _Spice World_ at the first available opportunity.

Molly also learned quite a bit about Martha's family. She especially enjoyed hearing stories about her sister's daring exploits, but it was clear from the fondness of Martha's tone that she was as dedicated to her family as she was to her job. Molly told her a bit more about her mum, and eventually her dad, in return.

When their schedules finally aligned a month and a half after Martha's short visit, Molly scooped Toby into her arms, grabbed _Spice World_ from her stack of DVD's and walked down the hall to Martha's apartment for their promised movie night.

"You brought a date," Martha said by way of greeting.

"He was itching to get out," Molly explained as she followed her into her living room. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she assured her. "Will he also be drinking wine?"

"Mm, no, I'm afraid Toby's a stalwart advocate of temperance."

"Temperance? Been reading period novels again, have you?" Martha teased.

Molly laughed and set Toby down on the couch. "It's a phase. Now," she lifted the DVD box in her hands. "Are you ready for some girl power?"

"Always!" Martha finished pouring wine into their glasses while Molly popped in the DVD, and they both settled on the couch with Toby between them. "It's been ages since I've watched this."

"It always used to cheer me up," Molly confessed. "I was never very good at the making friends bit in medical school."

"You've been good at the making friends bit with me," Martha pointed out.

"I can't take credit for that. Toby did most of the heavy lifting." Molly smiled and scratched behind Toby's ears.

"If by heavy lifting you mean breaking and entering, then absolutely," Martha laughed.

Molly joined. "His sudden derailment into a life of crime was very serendipitous," she agreed.

They drank a whole bottle of wine while watching the movie, giggling and chatting the entire time. Toby was decidedly not amused and after one too many outbursts of laughter, slinked into Martha's room and curled up on the bed.

Molly stumbled back to her apartment around two in the morning, with a promise to do it again the next time their schedules aligned. Their calls continued as usual with only one additional topic: Sherlock Holmes.

Molly had been working on the mangled corpse of a Mr. Bittlemeyer when Sherlock breezed into her morgue with the intention of inspecting the body. Between his striking cheekbones and intense blue eyes Molly was already a bit of a stammering mess, but when he opened his mouth to ask questions she was absolutely floored. He was brilliant. And he was fit— _really_ fit.

Despite Martha's encouragements to ask him out, Molly was hesitant. For one thing, he didn't seem interested in anything beyond a professional relationship. He valued her input and asked for her every time he needed to use the lab or look at a body, but their conversations were otherwise very one-sided. For another, Molly was hopelessly intimidated.

Finally, Martha had enough of the suspense and decided to join her for lunch in hopes of catching sight of the man she'd heard so much about. Molly was still in the lab by the time she arrived, tidying up while she waited for results.

"It shouldn't be more than ten minutes," Molly assured her. "I'll text him with the results and we can be on our way."

"Oh?" Martha leaned against the bench beside Molly and eyed her surroundings. "He's not coming by to pick them up himself, then, is he? And here I was hoping to get a peek."

Molly leaned over the bench and propped her chin up with her hand. "Maybe next time."

Sherlock Holmes himself burst into the lab with his nose in his phone and his fingers flying over the keyboard. Molly straightened with a bit of a squeak. He didn't look up, but started talking immediately.

"I changed my mind," he said as a greeting, finally putting his phone in his pocket and narrowing clear blue eyes at Molly. He ignored Martha completely. "Results, if you would. A man's life hangs in the balance."

Molly glanced at her watch. "Five more minutes to go," she assured him.

"And hello to you too," Martha chimed in with a bit of a raised brow.

"Sherlock, this is Doctor Martha Jones," Molly introduced. "Martha, Sherlock Holmes."

"I know." Sherlock flicked his eyes at Martha once Molly said her name. His hands slipped into the pockets of his Belstaff coat and he spoke quickly. Deductions. "I trust your time with UNIT has been beneficial. How was New York? And you have a lunch date with Molly today, how lovely. Can't imagine why you're here now. I'm sure you're quite busy with your work. Seeing Molly, of course, but there's another reason. You could have just met her at your chosen restaurant. Likely Chinese. Molly's particularly fond of that, and it is Tuesday. There's a special. No, you're here for another reason as well. For the moment it's escaping me." He stared at her for a moment and then finished. "Give me a moment, she did say I had five minutes."

Martha turned towards Molly with both her brows raised this time. "You weren't kidding, were you?"

Molly was more concerned with the fact that Sherlock would soon deduce the reason Martha was meeting her at St. Bart's rather than the Chinese place a few blocks down. Martha spoke before she had a chance steer the conversation down a different path.

"How about instead of trying to figure out why I'm here you join us for lunch? You can explain your deductions over a plate of dumplings."

Sherlock blinked twice. "I'm on a case," he said next. "And depending on these results. If they're not as I suspect they'll be—unlikely, but let's not rule out the possibility—I might still be on the case in four minutes. I don't eat when I'm working. Slows me down."

Something Molly couldn't quite pinpoint flashed across Martha's features but when she spoke again her tone was still polite. "Tell you what, then. If in four minutes you find those results are as you suspect, we all go out for lunch. If they're not and you're still on the case, we take a rain check for when you're done."

"Martha, that's really not necessary—" Molly began but Martha cut her off by looping her arm through hers.

"What do you say, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed between both of them, something also unidentifiable as the gears turned in his head. "Fine." He drew out the vowel in his deep voice. "I'll need those results first, of course. Molly."

"Right away." Molly untangled herself from Martha's arm and moved away to find the printout, hurrying it over to him a moment later. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the tip of her side braid.

Sherlock ignored Molly's fidgeting and scanned the results. By the time he reached the end, a smirk had grown on his face and his phone was in his hand. "Of course!" He turned his back on them to pace away, presumably typing out a text. "The gardener. The body moved. Brilliant, but not good enough." He sent the text and turned for the door.

Molly's shoulders drooped but Martha was already on the warpath. She pushed off the bench and blocked his exit. "Lunch now, yea?"

"I just need to stop by the locker room and change."

Molly made quick work of shedding her lab coat and washing her hands. She wasn't keen about leaving Sherlock alone with Martha. There was still quite a bit she didn't know about her, but she was clearly not the type to be intimidated and Sherlock was not one to mince his words. Molly was afraid they'd be at each other's throats if she left them alone too long.

Lunch was an exponentially more stressful affair than Molly initially anticipated it would be. Martha was clever and stubborn, and she interrogated Sherlock in a way Molly would've readily confused with conversation if Sherlock hadn't zeroed in on her intentions. By the time the check was delivered, she was relieved the whole thing was over. She excused herself to go to the bathroom but urged Sherlock and Martha to wait for her outside.

When she finally emerged, they seemed to have reached a sort of unspoken understanding. Molly watched Sherlock hail a cab and drive away with a wistful sigh.

Martha rolled her eyes at her and dragged her further down the street towards the Underground. "Walk with me for a bit?"

"Yea, of course." Molly reined in her thoughts and stole a peek at her. "What'd you think?"

Martha was quiet a long moment. "I think you should be careful," she said seriously. "He likes you and respects you, but I've met men like him before."

"You mean your Doctor?" Molly asked hesitantly.

Martha nodded. "He liked me and he respected me too, but he took me for granted. Don't let Sherlock do the same to you. I know he's brilliant and dreamy but you, Molly Hooper, are _spectacular_."

Molly smiled and bumped her shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do." Martha turned to hug her when they reached the stairs leading to the Underground. "And if all else fails, introduce him to Toby."

Molly hugged her back and smiled again. "He _is_ an excellent judge of character."

But several months later, Toby still hadn't met Sherlock and Molly found herself with other concerns. She'd seen very little of her dad during medical school and foundation training, but having started her specialty registrar, 'very little' had become 'nothing at all'. They kept in touch via phone calls but hearing his voice was not the same as seeing him face to face.

Still, Molly was observant and she knew her father well enough to know when he was struggling. He'd never been the same after her mother's death but he'd always put on a brave face for her. Lately she got the impression even that was slipping. He'd always been the 'suffer in silence' type, though, so when he'd brushed off her worry with a brisk assurance that he was fine, she was forced to let the matter go.

Molly was at work when she received the phone call. She knew it wasn't her dad because he was always careful about calling her when she wasn't working and Martha was equally familiar with her schedule. Sherlock was the type to call or text at any given moment if he was working a case, but he was standing a few feet away from her in the lab.

The call went unanswered until her lunch break, at which point she hid herself in the locker room for some privacy. The number was unfamiliar but the man leaving her a voicemail introduced himself as the on-call doctor at Isebrook Hospital in Wellingsborough, Northamptonshire. The closest hospital to Bozeat, where her dad still lived in her childhood home. She returned the call with shaking fingers.

Her father suffered very little. At least that was that he told her. Molly wished, for the first time, her knowledge of the human body wasn't quite so thorough. She would've been able to believe the lie.

She had a good cry in the locker-room and drew on what was left of her strength to compose herself and inform Mike Stamford she'd be taking a week off. Sherlock was already outside hailing a cab by the time she emerged from the hospital. He didn't seem to know quite what to do with himself when he caught sight of her except open the door for her to climb inside the cab, and inform her he'd take the next one.

Martha's call came later that evening. Molly was already packed but her flight didn't leave for another couple of hours, and she still didn't know what to do about Toby. She was sitting on the floor stroking his fur when her phone jolted her into the present.

"I am calling to set up a date," Martha announced the minute she'd picked up. "It's been ages since I've seen Toby. We're long overdue."

Molly opened her mouth to speak but 'my dad just died' got caught in her throat, and she broke down in a sobbing mess instead. Martha was knocking on her door within seconds and the minute Molly pulled it open, she wrapped her up in her arms.

"I'm so, so sorry," Martha told her earnestly. "What do you need?"

Molly sniffled and clung to her like a lifeline. She'd never realized those four little words—'what do you need'—could be so disarming. She knew what she wanted. She wanted her dad not to be dead. She wanted to be able to call him for advice, but that was the bitter irony of it. What she had, though, was a friend.

She pulled away and wiped her cheeks and nose with the sleeve of her jumper. "Do you think you could take care of Toby for a couple of days? He doesn't need much besides food and a place to sleep."

"Consider it done." Martha placed both her hands on Molly's shoulders and met her eyes. "If there's anything else, you're going to call me. Is that understood?"

Molly nodded. She noticed, even in her grief, that Martha didn't tell her everything was going to be okay or that her father was in a better place. She didn't press her with questions or fuss. Molly was beyond grateful for the solid, no-frills support.

Her father's funeral took place on a bitterly December morning. It was a very simple affair. He wasn't the type to make an endless amount of friends, but he had colleagues and they all came to pay their respects. Molly made sure he was buried next to her mum, the way they would've both wanted.

She felt a bit like she was playing at being an adult, making all sorts of serious decisions when all she wanted to do was curl up with her head on her mum's lap or sit with her dad in his study, and talk over a cup of tea. She didn't fancy being an adult so much.

When she finally made it back to her apartment building, she was worn out both physically and emotionally. Martha delivered her cat to her door and checked in on her the next day, but Molly did little more than curl up with Toby beneath the blankets and sleep. She resumed her normal routine that Monday with a heavy heart.

A full year went by before Molly found herself laughing again. Martha's family was having a holiday party and she'd insisted that Molly come along. Half an hour before they'd agreed to meet, Molly slipped into a red velvet dress with long sleeves and a Peter Pan collar. She was putting on her shoes when there was a knock on the door.

"I thought we weren't meeting for another half hour," Molly said by way of greeting when she caught sight of Martha on the other side. "I'm not ready."

"That's all right," Martha assured her. "I just wanted to give you your gift in private. May I come in?"

"Of course." Molly closed the door behind her and guided her into her living room, only then noticing she still had her hands behind her back. Her curiosity was piqued but she sat down and patiently clasped her hands on her lap.

Martha sat down next to her and brandished her present. "I thought perhaps this might be useful."

Molly smiled and took the wrapped package in her hands. It had the weight and shape of a book. She tore the wrapping carefully and turned it over in her hands to get a look at the cover: T.S. Elliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.

"I noticed it was missing from your bookshelf and with Toby, frankly, you _need_ that book." Martha looked her over. "Do you like it?"

Martha's answer came with Molly's wholehearted laugh. "It's perfect!" She set the book down to wrap her arms around her friend and Martha caught her in hers with a laugh of her own.

"Thought it would be. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Molly eyes stung with tears but she blinked them back with her next quiet laugh. "Merry Christmas, Martha Jones."


End file.
